


Prelude

by kallistob



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Grumpy Percival, Happy Ending, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Nervousness, Romantic Fluff, Wedding Rings, adorable niffler, he steals the ring, honestly Graves is a nervous wreck and the niffler doesn't help, soft!Credence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 03:57:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13158780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/pseuds/kallistob
Summary: All Percival wanted was to take Credence out and propose to him at the restaurant.He hadn’t counted on the fact that Newt’s niffler would be loose inside the MACUSA. Suddenly, he is robbed of a wedding ring - but Credence is waiting for him.Graves’ perfect evening is crumbling to dust, and he doesn’t know how to make it right again.





	Prelude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iLibra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iLibra/gifts).



> For iLibra! Thank you so much for trusting me with the prompt. I hope others will like it too <3 
> 
> Enjoy the Christmas fluff !

He sits at his desk, idly playing with the little velvet box he will open for Credence later tonight. Captivity at the hands of Gellert Grindelwald himself did not manage to inspire the swell of trepidation in him that the mere thought of proposing to Credence did.

He isn't quite sure how he is meant to survive the evening with the younger man on his arm, when all he can think about is the possibility of being rejected. He is still half convinced the younger man is under the influence of a love potion or a spell, despite how many times Credence rolled his eyes at him and kissed him breathless to prove that _no_ , he isn't drugged - he just loves him.

But there’s a difference between loving someone and agreeing to love them forever.

Graves chews on his lips. Any minute now, he will have to leave his office and face Credence.

He is ready, has been so for the past couple of hours. Clean-shaven, not a single hair out of place, clad in a new suit. His fingers itch to conceal the scar still present around his neck from his stay with Grindelwald. _The feeling of a blade, pressed tight against his throat and cutting his skin, magic preventing the wound from healing._ He shivers. He knows Credence loves all of him, with his eternal grumpiness, his scars and all his failures, but he wishes he could be more for him, wishes he could be better.

Will he even like the ring? The tightness in Graves’ chest worsens. He hopes Credence will - it is simple, black and silver intertwined in a band with their initials carved on the inside. They are his and Credence’s colors, he knows that, but now he finds himself doubting it. Perhaps Credence would have preferred a golden band? Or perhaps something more intricate, with shining jewels? His breathing quickens.

 _It isn't too late_. He still has a bit of time. Perhaps he can do something about the ring, transfigure it into something else. He is not sure the strong protection charms he requested be put in the band will let him have his way, but he is a Graves. Surely, he has enough power to do something like this.

Decision taken, he opens the little box and takes the ring inside to hold it up in front of his face. He smiles, imagining it fitting snugly on Credence’s slender finger. It will suit him perfectly. Graves made sure of it.

Credence will like it.

Credence will… Credence will say _yes_.

Graves closes his eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath to ease his nerves. There is a gust of air on his right and he blinks, only to pale considerably.

The ring is gone from his hands.

He gets up quickly, sending his chair rolling backwards. His heart races. He just had it. He just held it between his fingers. Did it fall to the floor? No, he would have heard it.

“Fuck, fuck, no no no, fuck --”

A bead of sweat runs down his temple as he looks everywhere in a panic. Papers fall to the floor as he searches the desk, and his inkwell splatters to the floor near his legs. Graves jumps back with a curse, casting a quick cleaning charm on his shoes and white pants before the dots of ink get imprinted in the fabric. _He can’t find the ring._ Where is it? Not on his desk, not below his desk. He didn’t hear anything, did not feel any magic at work. Was the jeweller a fake? Making Graves pay only for the ring to vanish after a limited amount of time? Graves runs his hand through his hair, his body shaking. His glass cabinets are unperturbed, and --

 _Oh_.

Disbelief gives way to relief and then anger. He storms across the room to the cabinets on his right. Newt Scamander’s niffler is trapped behind the glass, and his shiny astrological artefacts all have disappeared. Graves sighs, crouching down to face the little bugger. “That’s what happens when you aim too high. I should just leave you there to reflect on your misbehavior.”

The niffler squeaks, looking miserable, its little paws tapping against the glass in front of him, big eyes looking up at Graves and pleading. Graves huffs. “Stay put. Where is your master?”

The animal doesn’t reply, of course. Graves looks at his watch. Credence will be waiting for him in the lobby. He doesn’t have time to deal with a wayward niffler, but he can’t very well leave him there for the night.

A quick pass of his hand lifts the protection spells woven around the cabinet, and the door gives with a click. The niffler darts its nose out, sniffing Graves’ hand, and makes a tiny noise of protest when Graves lifts it up to stare down at it with narrow eyes. It looks nervous, and it makes Graves feel pleased. With a scowl, he flips the little monster around, holding it by its stubby back legs so it hangs upside down. The animal twists in his grip, but Graves merely raises an eyebrow and attacks, tickling him.

They had enough incidents similar to this one, what with Scamander being back at the MACUSA on a temporary consultancy job for their latest case, that his department knows exactly how to deal with the animal. The niffler’s attempts to hold onto its treasure are useless - they all slip from its pouch, and it whines as magical artefacts fall to the floor of Graves’ office in a great cacophony. Percival sees the ring fall and rebound among them before it stills, and he immediately _accios_ it to him, the niffler’s beady little eyes on it the whole time it takes for Graves to put the jewel back safely inside its box. He wards it and slips it inside his vest pocket, ignoring the niffler’s disappointed look.

“There are some things you shouldn’t steal,” Graves admonishes him as he uses magic to levitate and place each artefact back inside the cabinet safely. “Surely Scamander must have taught you that.” The niffler wriggles against him, trying to escape. “No? Where is he now?”

It stills, bumping his head against Graves’ chest but not offering any response.

“If I leave you here you will make a mess of my office,” Graves says. “Good Merlin, I don't have time for this.”

He carries the niffler with him as he turns off the lights in his office and exits the room hastily, locking the door behind him. He is two minutes late for his and Credence’s date, so he jogs quickly to the elevators, feeling for the comforting weight of the box in his pocket.

They have reservations at the Plaza, but - Graves thinks - for all of his influence, there is no way they will be able to get inside the restaurant with a _niffler_.

Oh no, no, _no._

Graves has planned this evening for _weeks_.

People at the Plaza are in the secret, ready to open champagne bottles and change the music to something romantic as soon as Graves has gotten his positive answer.

He can’t cancel all of that now. They need to get rid of the damned animal, and quickly.

Graves thinks of Credence to cast his Patronus. The Wampus cat stretches languidly in front of him, listening to his message and then running off to wherever Scamander is.

The elevator dings, and just as Graves steps out of it, a ghostly fox appears in front of him, wearing Scamander’s voice.

_“Evening, Mr. Graves, terribly sorry to disturb you. It seems the Niffler has escaped again. He should be within the MACUSA. I am, however, unable to come look for him at the moment, so if you would be so kind as to keep an eye on him for the night? I’d be eternally grateful. I believe you intended to spend the evening with Credence. He knows how to take care of Albus. I will take him back tomorrow. I promise, it won’t happen again.”_

“Oh hell no,” Graves says incredulously as the Patronus vanishes. “You infuriating Brit. I don’t care if I have to apparate to your home right now to find you and Miss Goldstein otherwise _busy_ , I am not niffler sitting tonight, thank you very much.”

He sends Newt another Patronus telling him just that, annoyance coursing through him and a frown marring his face. He tries to smooth his features into something more gentle lest he scares Credence away.

His boy is waiting for him down the stairs, near the building’s entrance, and Graves finds himself smiling at the sight of him. Credence turns around when he hears the sound of his footsteps, and Graves is greeted to a shy but bright smile that steals the air from his lungs.

He clears his throat as he approaches Credence, feeling warm all over. His lover let his hair loose for once, and it curls around his face in gentle waves. His cheeks and lips are pink, and Graves ponders whether or not Queenie held onto her promise to show Credence makeup, or if his lover is just naturally that enchanting. He greets Credence without words, cupping his jaw to kiss him, and Credence sighs against his lips. Graves smiles with it and pulls back, his anxiousness fading.

All that remains is Credence’s eyes on him, Credence’s hands on his chest, and Credence, here with him. Graves feels himself melt.

Then Credence says, “Why do you have a niffler?” and the older man blinks, startling himself out of the daze his lover never fails to induce in him.

“Oh, right.” Graves looks down at the niffler he holds close to his chest. “Scamander let him escape. As much as I respect him for his work, this is going too far - we are not canceling our reservation to take care of such an insufferable creature, especially not tonight.”

In his arms, the niffler sniffs pitifully, and Credence smiles at it. “We can't take him with us.”

“I know that,” Graves mumbles. “He would rob everyone at the Plaza, and we'd be kicked out. Unacceptable for the wonderful evening I have planned for you, darling.” His gaze is intent as he says it, and Credence tilts his head to the side curiously.

“I thought we were just having dinner?”

“We are.” Graves tries to wink at him, choosing playfulness to forget his anxiety. He only manages to blink stupidly.

“We can have dinner back at your place,” Credence suggests hesitantly. “That way we don’t have to disturb Mr. Scamander on his date.” His voice drops lower, a light blush dusting his cheeks. “Queenie gathered that he intended to ask Tina in marriage tonight.”

Graves opens his mouth, then closes it again - eyes wide in surprise. He clears his throat, grip tightening around the niffler who makes a squawk of protest and wriggles away from Graves’ hold. Credence reaches out for him, and the niffler climbs along his arm until he is perched safely on Credence’s shoulder. Graves blinks. The knot in his chest has tightened once more, and his throat feels clogged up.

“So we can’t interrupt their evening,” Credence continues, oblivious to his internal turmoil. He lifts a hand to scratch the niffler’s head absently. The little animal bumps against it, making Credence laugh. “It’s okay, Percival. I won’t love you any less if we have cake at home on our anniversary. You know I’m not really comfortable in crowds, anyway.”

“I know,” Percival says weakly, his perfect evening crumbling to dust in front of his eyes. The niffler tries to grab the gleaming pair of glasses perched up Credence's nose, and gets reprimanded. The creature even has the grace to look chastised.

Percival sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could ask Credence at home, he supposes.

He can picture it easily enough : the two of them, snuggling on the sofa, Credence half dozing against him, his belly full with a heavy meal, comforted by the warmth of Percival’s arms.

Percival would kiss his forehead gently, marveling at the wonderful fact that this young man has chosen to be _his_ , before he’d gently push him away in order to get up. Credence would make a soft, sleepy noise of protest, rubbing at his eyes as he'd straighten up to see where Percival is going.

“I’ll be right back,” Percival would say with a warm, reassuring smile. “Don’t close your eyes.”

Credence would obey him, of course. He would watch the light of the fire as it played on the hearthstones, while waiting for Percival's return, attempting to ignore the sleep stinging at his eyes. Percival would be back before he had a chance to give up and decide to curl up beneath the soft blanket Percival kept spread across the back of the sofa. No, Credence would be sitting, legs drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around them.

Percival would arrive, walking in quick strides and kneeling in front of Credence before fear made him run backwards. Credence would look down at him, lips parted and cheeks rosy, and Percival would muster strength from the sight -

He would reach inside his breast pocket with a hand that shook just barely, and Credence’ breath would hitch as he understood -

The revelation: a small, velvet box the color of the deep sea held between his shaky fingers. Percival would open it with a deep breath -

“Percival,” Credence would murmur, eyes shining. “Yes.”

The Percival in his imagination doesn’t stutter, doesn’t blush. The question is simple, his speech rehearsed to perfection, yet no less honest and raw with emotions for it. Credence would start crying, and before Percival could finish he would have said yes time and time again.

Oh, he can see it all happen clearly. It isn’t as grandiose he hoped for: there is no grand applause nor the pop of champagne bottles, but through it all Credence’s expression remains the same. Awestruck, lovestruck, tears welling up in his eyes as he says _yes._

Graves has seen it happen so many times in his mind, he can console himself with the thought that in the end the result is the same, no matter where he makes his demand. He will still get to see Credence walking down the alley in a white suit, and a bright smile on his face. It’s all Percival wants, really.

(Call him a traditional, but marriage is, to him, the highest proof of love that can exist. It is simply how he was raised.)

The fact that he found Credence still feels like a miracle sometimes. He gets the feeling God is jeering in his ears when the burden of his insecurities surface. Credence could have so much _better._

Yet he is here, with him.

-

“Ah,” Graves gasps, clutching Credence’s arm reflectively. Credence smiles gently and leads him to the sofa, upon which Percival collapses. The niffler, still taking Credence for his home, makes an inquiring noise. Credence takes Percival’s hand in his, voice soft and laced with deep worry.

“Are you with me, love?”

Percival grunts and reclines against the back of the sofa. He stills wear his new suit, and Credence still looks as pretty as a dream. “W - why are we back home?”

His throat feels parched, and he clears it.

“You lost time again,” Credence informs him. “I apparated us here when you didn’t react to my questions. May I ask - what were you thinking about?”

Percival looks at him, his young love enquiring about his health with a worried frown, as though he was an old man ready to plunge anytime. Which, he is. Percival grits his teeth, a rush of self-hatred running through him.

“Same old, same old,” he says, referring to when he got lost in memories of his time spent as Grindelwald’s captive. Credence nods, but he doesn’t look convinced.

“Our reservations,” Percival startles, alarmed. He makes a move to get up, but Credence firmly pushes him down with a hand against his chest. “Did you - ?”

“I called the restaurant,” Credence reassures him quickly. He takes Percival’s hand in his and strokes it softly to soothe his clearly agitated lover. “I moved the reservation to tomorrow night, same hour. It won’t be the same, but clearly you’re not well enough to get there, and we have to care for Albus anyway, since Newt dropped him on our shoulders.”

Percival stares at him.

A whimper escapes his lips, and he falls back against the pillows, closing his eyes in defeat. Damn Newt Scamander and his bloody creatures!

After a while, he opens his eyes, and immediately notices the niffler is gone from Credence’s shoulder. “Where is he?”

“Where is who?”

“The niffler,” Percival snaps. “Is he stealing my cufflinks again?”

Credence shakes his head and unbuttons his jacket. Two little paws peek out from the lapels, quickly followed by a little head and beady eyes. The niffler quacks at him before burying himself back in Credence’s clothes, and Graves would find it cute if he weren’t so tired.

“I had something planned for you, you know,” he informs Credence as the young man moves away. “At the restaurant.”

“So I heard.”

“So you… what?” Percival stutters.

“The man I had on the phone seemed very worried to hear that I called to cancel tonight,” Credence says idly as he goes into the kitchen. “Say, do we have almonds?”

“I don’t think so,” Graves says, dazed. “Did he - did he say anything else?”

“No, but he let out a sigh of relief when I said we were still coming tomorrow night, and told me things would still be done as Mr. Graves asked for, down to the letter.”

“Shit.” Graves thinks about how he’ll probably have to pay double the price to get back at the staff and the musicians for their troubles, as well as the cook for baking a useless cake for tonight. Not that money is a problem - not with his name - but still. He grunts. “Bloody niffler.”

“Stop swearing, sweetheart. Albus doesn’t like it.”

“Albus can go --”

There Graves dissolves into some very imaginative Irish curses, and Credence yells at him to calm down from the kitchen.

“I don’t know what you are so upset about! It’s still us, right? We’ll go to the restaurant tomorrow, and we still get to spend Christmas together. Hush, love.”

“Fine,” Graves retorts. “Fine!” He stands abruptly from the sofa and the world sways for a second before righting itself. Arms crossed over his chest, he walks to the kitchen, only to find Credence has placed the niffler on the table and is feeding him slices of apple one by one.

The niffler chews them greedily, and with Graves sees him tuck a couple of them inside his pouch. Sensing his stare, the niffler turns his head and freezes at the sight of him at the door.

“See?” Credence says reproachfully. “You’re scaring him. It’s alright, Albus, Cree is here. Now finish your dinner.”

“I must be dreaming,” Graves mutters. He feels the weight of the velvet box in his pocket, and wonders whether, in the end, he should leave it for tomorrow as well, or if he should still give it to Credence tonight. It doesn’t feel the same, somehow, to wait another day - it won’t be their anniversary date. No, it has to be tonight, niffler be damned. He can do this.

Plus, after a few minutes of observing Credence play with the little creature, he can admit that it is cute. Credence has a natural streak for taking care of others, and he seems to be very familiar with the niffler, who quacks from time to time as though the two of them were having an actual conversation. Credence looks happy. It's all that matters, in the end, isn't it? As he observes them, tension slowly bleeds from Percival’s body.

“Sorry,” he says softly after a while, leaning against the doorframe. “Sorry, doll. You know I don’t like my plans disrupted.”

“I know,” Credence murmurs, looking up at him. “And I’ll make sure to have a word with Newt about this - I don’t like seeing you like this. I think I know why this evening was so important to you, too.”

Percival stays silent, keeping his face carefully blank. “So what do you want to do now?”

“Well,” Credence says, straightening up and gathering the niffler back into his arms before he can scramble away. Surprisingly, the animal doesn’t try to leave, instead it snuggles close to Credence’s chest, his little eyes falling shut. “I’m not feeling particularly hungry right now. Are you?”

“No.” Anxiousness has twisted his stomach in knots, and he is the furthest away from hungry he can be. “I’m not.”

“But you’re all nervous,” Credence points out. “So I suggest we go back to the living-room, and I cuddle you until that frown has disappeared off of your face.”

That actually sounds… Good. Very good. In fact, Graves suddenly wants nothing more than to rest his head against Credence’s chest and feels Credence’s arms around him, holding him close.

He nods, a small smile tugging at his lips, and turns on his heels. Credence follows closely behind him.

Once in front of the sofa Graves looks back expectantly at Credence, willing to let him guide them from there. Credence takes the blanket resting on the back of the sofa and sets it in the plush armchair to Graves’ left. He rearranges it to form a nest of sorts, and once done he places the niffler delicately atop the blanket. Like a puppy, the little animal spins around on himself before finally settling into position, and once done he doesn’t move.

Graves stares in disbelief. “Just like that? An apple, and he’s soft as a kitten?”

Credence hums. “It’s not the apple. He will just automatically nap for a couple of hours after being fed. It’s quite practical, really, but Newt makes sure not to abuse it even if Albus is insufferable at times, otherwise he would get fat.”

Graves nods again, but he promises himself to always keep a batch of fresh apples in his office from now on.

He is pulled from his musings when Credence tugs him by the arm. Graves follows and stays standing as Credence moves the pillows to be able to then lie comfortably on his back on the sofa. He unties and takes off his shoes with a flick of his wand before placing them down on the floor.

Graves takes in the sight of him, noticing Credence is almost too tall for the sofa. With a wave of his hand Percival lengthens it.

He takes off his shoes as well. Credence opens his arms, looking up at him expectantly, and with a soft smile Graves climbs on the sofa. He braces himself above Credence on all fours, arms and legs on either side of his body, before gently lowering himself down. Credence cards his fingers through his hair as he does so, and the older man feels himself surrender completely, melting against his lover.

They fit just right, like this, pressed together from chest to toes, with Percival’s head laying on Credence’s chest. He can hear Credence’s heartbeat, a quick melody that acts like a sleeping spell on him. His body relaxes, aided by the feeling of tender fingers softly massaging his scalp. He breathes deeply. He is surrounded by Credence’s warmth, and he feels drowsiness pull him under. Credence’s soft huffs of breath on his forehead help remind him that he has been lucky enough to find what others seek all their lives - unconditional love. And it came in the form of such a wonderful young man, too - willing to take Percival into his arms even when he’s being grumpy and distressed and sullen.

He sighs again. He feels much calmer now than moments before, and Credence senses it.

“Better?” he murmurs, stilling the movement of his hand in Percival’s hair. Percival makes a distressed noise, and Credence resumes his caresses with a soft chuckle. “There we go. It is not the end of the world, love. We will go tomorrow.”

“I know,” Percival says, just as quietly. He shifts, lifting his chin up until he can meet Credence’s eyes, only to go cross-eyed as Credence kisses the tip of his nose. “ _Uuh._ I know, I just -”

“Hang on - can you move a little? There’s something digging into my rib -”

“Ah,” Percival says. “Sorry.” He pulls himself up, looking down at himself with a frown. His heart skips a beat as he realizes what Credence felt was the little box inside his breast pocket. Something which he cannot really take out in front of Credence now…

… Can he?

Percival bites his lips. Credence looks at him interrogatively, changing the sense in atmosphere, and in one quick move - before he has the time to chicken out of it - Percival takes the small box out of his pocket.

Credence’s eyes go round as saucers. Percival is pretty sure he can hear the young man’s heartbeat picking up pace like a startled horse, or perhaps that is his own blood, roaring in his ears as if protesting the enormity of what he is about to do.

With shaking hands, he holds the box in front of Credence, and opens it, revealing the simple, silver ring gleaming inside, sitting atop velvet black fabric.

Time seems to still. Percival looks to the side, unable to meet Credence’s eyes. He feels on the verge of vertigo, and when he speaks, his voice sounds alien to his own ears.

“Credence Barebone,” he hears himself say. “Will you please marry me?”  

And the only reply he gets is a sudden press of lips upon his. He makes a muffled sound of surprise, almost dropping the box and the treasure it contains, and then he hears it - laughter. A light, breathless, delightful sound - half broken by sobs. Hands cradle his face, and he finally dares look up and meet Credence’s eyes.

He is nearly blinded by the pure love and adoration he sees there.

“Yes,” Credence says, giggling - drunk on happiness. _“Yes.”_

-

 

The end.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Reach out to me on Tumblr : 
> 
> @thegaypumpingthroughyourveins :)


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